


barely caught a glimpse of what it means

by oopshidaisy, ViolaWay



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6851983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>cartinelli high school au feat. the avengers, pining and prom. lots and lots of prom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	barely caught a glimpse of what it means

**Author's Note:**

> i was watching agent carter so i had those cartinelli feels and then i was watching civil war, so…tony. this is the result. title is from sleeping at last’s ‘overture’. i’ve tried to include basically every high school au trope in this but bear in mind that i’m not american and i have no idea how schools work over there. all of this is basically what i’ve learned from hollywood.

It’s Tony who points it out first, in his characteristically blunt manner. “You know you guys are basically married already, right?”

Angie blushes immediately, nervous laugh bursting out of her while Peggy – of course – remains unruffled. By this point, Angie’s accepted that her crush is one of those pesky ‘unrequited’ ones, and that she’s probably destined to watch Peggy marry on-again-off-again boyfriend Steve Rogers, captain of the school’s unusually popular Frisbee league and all-around heart-throb. It’s okay. Her heart can totally take it.

Tony powers on through, a testament to his inability to _ever stop talking_. Angie loves him, really. More often than not. “Even my _dad_ thinks so, and he never pays attention to me. Or my friends.”

“Well, except Steve.”

Howard Stark, as coach of the school’s unusually popular Frisbee team, has taken a shining to his team’s star player and, as a result, Tony has started spending a concerning amount of time plotting his former best friend’s demise. It’s put a bit of a strain on the group’s dynamic, with the typical adolescent ‘side choosing’ dictating interactions and plans for a few weeks before Tony and Steve declared an uneasy truce. Uneasy being the only word to accurately describe it, as Tony still frequently mutters about Steve’s “stupid perfect teeth” with obsessive frequency.

Angie, knowing it’s a low blow, continues: “Anyway, if anyone’s the old married couple, it’s you and Rogers. Sorry, Peg.”

“Don’t worry about it. Steve’s free to have hate sex with whomever he chooses.”

Tony splutters. “We are _not_ …”

“Relax, Stark,” Angie says. “Although you’ve gotta admit, he’s basically the only person you _haven’t_ dated at this point.”

Tony concedes this point by shrugging non-commitally.

“Are we meeting Barnes this morning?” Peggy asks, changing the subject. Their morning route changes almost weekly; although Peggy and Angie have walked to school together since they were kids (perks of being neighbours) other people’s sleeping schedules and before-school clubs make co-ordinating a nightmare.

“Uh, no,” Tony says. “I think he’s got a free period first and so he’s going to the gym. With Steve. As buddies.”

Peggy raises an eyebrow. It takes less than a second for Tony to break.

“They also might be sleeping together.” He says it so fast that it’s practically one word, and it takes Angie a second to register what he’s said.

“Tony!” she admonishes, hitting him on the arm. “What the fuck!”

“I’m sorry!” he says. “But Steve told Sam and Sam told Nat and then I overheard Nat telling Pepper and it’s like, who even knew that Steve wasn’t straight, right?”

“Everyone. Literally everyone knows Steve isn’t straight,” Angie says.

“Oh,” Tony says.

Peggy sighs. “Seriously, it’s fine. We broke up a month ago. And we’re still friends, so it’s not weird unless Tony makes it weird. Tony, don’t make it weird.”

“When have I _ever_ made _anything_ weird?”

“Remember when you dated Rhodey for, like, three days after Pepper broke up with you and then you felt so bad about it that you didn’t speak to either of them for four months?”

“I see your point,” Tony says. “But it’s fine now. I had, like, a whole conversation with Pepper last week. And I didn’t cry.”

“Did you cry afterwards?”

“Only a little.”

Angie’s all but forgotten about being accused of being married to her best friend when Peggy brings it up again, like the stunning but evil person that she is. Angie wants to die. “What did you even _mean_ by that?” she’s asking. Angie silently begs Tony not to answer.

No dice.

“What did you do this weekend?” he fires back.

Peggy considers. “We went and watched a movie on Friday night, and then there was that awful family gathering at my place – again, thanks for coming to that, Angie – and I went to theirs for dinner on Saturday so I slept over, of course, and then we went to the new milkshake bar for breakfast…shit. Okay, I see your point.”

“Just out of curiosity, have you two actually spent any time apart since you were – what? – six years old?”

“We just get on really well with each other’s families,” Peggy says, somewhat weakly. “If anything, we’re like sisters.”

Angie sincerely hopes that no one has ever looked at their sister the way she looks at Peggy.

“Yeah, right,” Tony says. “So anyway, when do prom tickets go on sale?”

*

Janet descends on them before they’re through the school gates. “Have any of you done the science homework?” she asks.

“Jan, none of us are in your science class,” Angie says.

“Oh yeah, silly me,” she responds. “I meant: Tony, will you please do my science homework for me?”

Tony looks charmed despite himself (as most people generally do where Janet van Dyne is concerned) and takes the assignment out of her hands. “One day I’m gonna start charging you for this,” he says, scanning the piece of paper. “I take it Hank’s still visiting his parents, then?”

“Oh, he got arrested,” Janet says breezily. “Something about a death robot. I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding, but he’s probably not gonna be back for a while. Speaking of which, would any of you mind being my replacement prom date?”

“Much as I’ve always wanted to be a replacement,” Tony says, “I can’t. I promised Bruce I’d go with him. As friends,” he adds hastily.

“Why is no one _single_?” Janet groans, ignoring him. “God, you’d think there’d be one hot guy in this entire school who’s not having a torrid affair with his best friend – sorry, Peggy – but _no_. What’s a girl gotta do to find a replacement boyfriend around here?”

“You could consider going with a girl,” Angie suggests.

“That would be great, if they weren’t all taken too. You and Peggy, Pepper and Nat…”

Tony chokes on air. Angie can relate.

“…Wanda and her iPhone.”

“You realise me and Angie aren’t actually _dating_ , right?” Peggy points out. Angie wants to kiss her on her stupid lips.

“Really?” Janet comments. “You could’ve fooled me. Anyway, I reckon I’ll ask Sam if he can tear himself away from bird-watching for one night and put on a tux. You never know.”

She skips off and Tony stares after her, open-mouthed. “Did you know about Pepper and Natasha?” he asks no one in particular.

“Have you ever gotten over _any_ of your exes?” Peggy responds.

Tony considers for a moment. “I got over Christine,” he says eventually.

“You slept with her once – a year ago – at a party and then she published an article in the school paper about the size of your dick,” Angie reminds him. “If you _weren’t_ over her, I’d be more than a little concerned.”

*

They’re finally left alone when Tony goes off to attend the last five minutes of the pre-school science club (to Angie’s knowledge, he’s never actually turned up on time). Peggy seems to be deliberating for a few moments before she says, “Why do you think everyone assumes we’re dating?”

Angie has officially not had enough coffee to deal with this conversation.

The thing is, she knows Peggy’s well out of her league. Angie’s just an average student who works in a diner on Sundays and dreams of making it big on Broadway without any real hope of getting there. Chances are she’ll be in this town until she dies, serving customers on her roller-skates and counting out coins from the tip jar. But Peggy – Peggy’s the kind of girl who’s got to get out. She’ll go to New York – Angie’s sure of it – and do something truly amazing, something to change the world. There’s no part of that where Angie’s involved, because she’d only be holding Peggy back, stopping her from achieving the wonderful things she’s meant to.

“I don’t know,” Angie says, because she honestly doesn’t. She can’t understand how anyone could look at her and Peggy’s friendship and not see it for what it is – a planet orbiting a sun, just grateful to be close to it.

“Well, you know how Tony and Jan are. They’ll read romance into anything,” Peggy says. “Did you read Jan’s latest essay in the school newspaper?”

“The one about how _Fight Club_ is just a metaphor for gay orgies? Yeah, it was great.”

“I guess I see her point. Anyway, what I’m saying is that I wouldn’t want any stupid rumours to affect our friendship. We don’t have to listen to their weird conspiracy theories,” Peggy says.

Angie has never had a girlfriend. She had one boyfriend when she was thirteen, never got further than kissing, and decided the whole ordeal wasn’t really for her. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive, but she’d found the entire concept of dating tiresome and awkward. Going out to a half-posh restaurant only to have nothing to say wasn’t exactly her idea of a good time. Since then, she hadn’t even thought about romance until Peggy started seeing Steve again, last January.

It had been a gradual process for her to realise she was jealous. A part of her had always been distantly aware of her attraction to women, but it had never really bothered her until she’d walked into Peggy’s bedroom to see her, only in underwear, on top of Steve Rogers. It’s an image that’s haunted her ever since. After that, it had been impossible for her to ignore that her feelings for Peggy could no longer be described as ‘platonic’; she’s been living with the knowledge ever since. It’s been four months, and it’s hell.

The only person she knows who unironically uses the term ‘friendzone’ is Clint, whose thing for Natasha is so well known that Nat herself is in on all of the inside jokes. “Look, Clint, I love you,” she’d finally said when it became impossible to ignore, “but I’m a lesbian and this isn’t a Ben Affleck movie.” So Angie doesn’t – can’t – define this relationship in that way, because it’d be an insult to Peggy and to their friendship. Peggy is the best friend Angie could ever hope to have, and she’s not about to fuck that up just because she’s also a little bit in love with her.

“It’s fine,” Angie says eventually. “They’ll get bored of us eventually.”

*

They don’t. Or, at least, that week becomes torture as more and more of their friends begin needling them about their relationship. It’s all in good fun, all joking, but Angie can’t stop her deep blush whenever Peggy joins in with the joke, linking their fingers or nudging their shoulders together. She’s making a fool of herself; she can’t help it.

At lunch time on Friday, they’re sat in the canteen: Steve and Bucky are as far apart as the seating plan allows them to be, but keep glancing at each other all the same; Tony and Bruce have managed to sneak some kind of chemical out of the school lab and are examining it slightly too close to their food, and Natasha is quizzing Sam on the book they’re studying for English. It’s casually chaotic, as most of their lunchtimes are, and Peggy’s foot is gently resting against Angie’s. Angie wishes she wasn’t hyper-aware of the practically non-existent pressure, but here she is.

“Stark, if you don’t put that acid away in the next five seconds I will stamp on your eye in my stilettos,” Pepper says, coming up behind him with her tray. Tony immediately obeys the order and Pepper squeezes in next to Nat, smiling sunnily. “So are you lot coming to my birthday party tomorrow?”

“Am I invited?” Tony asks.

“As long as you don’t piss in the front garden or have sex in my parents’ bed again.”

“Both of those had perfectly reasonable explanations,” Tony protests.

“And I still don’t want to hear them,” Pepper says. “But you’re welcome to come. As are the rest of you – just please dress nice. And my parents are gonna be there, so don’t do anything embarrassing, and I really can’t emphasise the ‘no sex’ rule enough.” She looks pointedly at Peggy and Angie. Angie wants to die. She’s also now vaguely imagining having sex with Peggy, which is a no-go area. She works hard to never, ever, under any circumstances, think about Peggy naked. She has too much respect for her sanity.

“Don’t worry, we’ll wait ‘til we get home,” Peggy jokes. If Angie wasn’t in love with her, she’d hate her.

Apparently Peggy has decided that because the jokes aren’t making their friendship any more awkward (and they’re not, because Angie isn’t a complete idiot) they’re harmless and therefore enjoyable. In fact, Peggy joining in with the joke has been the worst part of the entire ordeal, and there have been many bad parts. Mainly Tony’s euphemisms. They’re always pretty bad.

“I might have to crash that party,” Sam says. “Can I stay over at yours too, Angie?”

“This is the weirdest request for a threesome I’ve ever heard,” Tony says. Everyone throws food at him.

“Fuck off, Stark,” Sam says. “My mum says I need to stop turning up after midnight. It’s not like I have a curfew or anything, but she just wants me to stay over somewhere else so that she can get some sleep.”

“Since I’m apparently running a bed and breakfast…” Angie grins. “Sure, Sam.”

*

Angie goes to Peggy’s house to get ready for the party. Peg’s older brother is still skulking around with his X-Box controller and a bag of Cheetos despite technically being enrolled in college, which is a shame because Angie hates him. She knows it’s rude to hate other people’s families as a general rule, but Barry Carter is a piece of work. He manages to encapsulate the triumvirate of racist, sexist and homophobic effortlessly whilst being as disgusting and unpleasant as possible.

Peggy, luckily, agrees. Barry’s always been the sort of boy who you’d expect to burn bugs with a magnifying glass in his spare time and Peggy’s not blinded by the rose-tinted glasses of family like her parents are.

“Martinelli,” he says now, leering, “looking good.”

“Fuck the fuck off,” she responds.

He shrugs, licking the orange dust off his fingers as he slouches past. Peggy smiles apologetically, leading Angie up the stairs to her bedroom.

Peggy’s bedroom is almost as familiar to Angie as her own. It’s painted sky blue, a double bed under a large window and a desk covered in little trinkets. There’s a framed photograph on it from last year, of Peggy with Steve and Angie on either side, taken at a town picnic. The three of them are framed by the azure blue sky, both Steve and Angie laughing at something Peggy said. Angie can’t help but smile whenever she sees it. “I should get rid of that,” Peggy says, following Angie’s gaze.

“He’s still your friend.”

“He didn’t even tell me about him and Bucky,” Peggy replies. “I would’ve been happy for them. I _am_ happy for them.”

“You don’t have to prove it,” Angie smiles.

Peggy sighs. “Maybe I do, to him. It’s like he thinks I’m going to be the jealous ex-girlfriend and slash Bucky’s tires or something.”

“You’d never do that – you love Bucky.”

“Steve’s always thought that no one could care about Bucky as much as he does, even when they were friends. He’s so over-protective of him – remember when Buck accidentally broke Tony’s robot and Steve took the blame for no apparent reason? It’s sort of ridiculous, actually.”

“Do you really think you and Steve are over for good, then?” Angie asks.

“Yes,” Peggy says decisively. “I loved him, but I always felt a little bit in his shadow. Like we were in a movie, but it was his movie and I was a supporting character. It might sound stupid, but…”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Angie says. “And it seems like you and Tony may have more in common than previously thought. It’s like Steve gives everyone a bloody inferiority complex.”

Peggy smiles at the curse word; it’s something Angie’s picked up from Peggy’s British mannerisms. “At least Tony never dated him.” Peggy pauses. “As far as we know.” They’re both quiet for a moment before Peggy perks up again: “So, Ang, what are you wearing tonight? I’ve been dying to see.”

Angie dumps her overnight bag on the bed and pulls out the dress, a pink and white summery one embroidered with flowers. “It’s not that exciting,” she says.

“No, it’s beautiful,” Peggy responds. “Go on, put it on.”

Angie changes quickly and methodically, refusing to even consider that Peggy might look at her body in ‘that’ way; they’ve never been precious about changing in front of each other since they were kids, and besides, they still take gym class together. It’s no big deal.

“You look gorgeous,” Peggy says simply, once Angie is dressed.

Angie turns to the full-length mirror and surprises herself by agreeing. It really is a beautiful dress, just brushing the tops of her knees in a flowing mesh of fabric. She’s borrowing it from her older sister but it fits surprisingly well. “Wow,” she says. “It is pretty cute.”

“Have you picked out shoes yet?” Peggy asks. “Because I have a pair of heels that would go perfectly…”

She’s already digging through the bottom of her wardrobe, pulling out some white high-heels that Angie’s never seen her wear. “They’re new,” Peggy answers the silent question. “We’re going to a wedding in a couple of weeks and my mum bought them for me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t…”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “I borrow your stuff all the time, Angie. Take them.” Angie does, slipping them onto her feet while Peggy returns to the wardrobe to pick out her own outfit. When Angie sees it, even on the hanger, her jaw almost drops open. It is, hands down, the sluttiest thing Peggy has ever decided to wear. Blood red, low cut and ankle-length with what looks to be a slit up the side of the leg – Angie is not prepared to see Peggy wearing this.

“That’s…oh my god,” she stutters.

“I know, right,” Peggy says brightly. “I was thinking of saving it for prom, but then this seemed like the perfect opportunity.”

“Sure,” Angie says. “It’s perfect.”

*

The party is exactly what one would expect from Pepper Potts’ 18th: reserved yet stylish, with a gazebo set up in the garden and glasses of sparkling wine in everyone’s hands. She’s invited people from most of her classes and some family members, too, although the two groups remain strictly divided (Angie can’t fault Pepper’s reasoning on this one; there’s no way anyone would want Tony Stark talking to their grandmother).

Pepper herself looks lovely, of course, in a shimmering backless dress and hair curled in loose waves. Tony’s jaw drops when he sees her, although he hastily composes himself and manages to deliver an unruffled greeting. He doesn’t look so bad himself, having traded in his usual band t-shirts and jeans for an actual suit and tie. It’s off-set by a garish pair of sunglasses, but they can’t expect miracles.

In fact, everyone looks gorgeous. Angie and Peggy drift over to Natasha first, who’s looking at her girlfriend with pride, clad in a sophisticated all-black outfit involving heels that intimidate Angie on sight. “It’s weird, being at an _adult party_ ,” Angie says, and Nat rolls her eyes fondly.

“We’ve been to other people’s eighteenths,” she points out.

“That’s not what I mean,” Angie says. “We’ve been to _Tony’s_ eighteenth, and Bucky’s, and Rhodey’s, and Jan’s. None were very _adult_ affairs. In fact, I remember Tony opening his with ‘hey, guys, let’s see how drunk we can all get!’”

“And I recall that the answer was ‘very’,” Nat says wryly.

“Yeah, that night was a mess.”

It really was; Peggy’s cousin – Sharon – had come from out of town and managed to become the star of the party within minutes, charming everyone’s pants off (some literally) and Bucky had lost his prosthetic arm in the swimming pool. That was by eight pm. By midnight, some variation of strip poker was taking place in the living room and Tony was almost stark naked (“Stark naked!” he’d laughed. “Geddit? Because I’m naked, and I’m a Stark...”), the upstairs bedrooms had been commandeered by various couples, and the police had been called. It was all very teen movie cliché.

Nat leads them over to the drinks table and Angie grabs a glass, downing it in two gulps. Just because this is an adult party doesn’t mean _she_ has to behave like an adult. Besides, the effect of Peggy in That Dress is worse than she ever could have imagined. It brings out all of her curves, framing her body’s contours in a way that is, frankly, indecent. Angie’s aware that not everyone is salivating over her, but she can’t help it – it’s like every dirty fantasy she’s ever had has come to life and formed Peggy Carter. (Angie honestly doesn’t know what she’d do if she ever saw Peggy naked. Her natural inclination is towards death.) It’s not just the dress, either; it’s the red lipstick hugging Peggy’s lips and the amused glint to her eye as she watches Angie take another glass of the sparkling wine.

“Thirsty?”

Angie shrugs. “I hate being sober at parties.”

“I know you do,” Peggy says, because of course she does, “but I can’t have my date falling over herself before it’s even dark out.”

“That’s unfair,” Angie points out, not focusing on the fact that Peggy just called her her ‘date’. It doesn’t mean anything. “It’s summer. It gets dark at, like, nine pm. Tony’s gonna be drunk by four. I can’t be five hours behind.”

“You’re really modelling yourself after Tony?”

“You betcha, English,” Angie says.

Peggy smiles at the old nickname and takes a drink for herself. “Come on, let’s go socialise.”

*

Angie’s pleasantly tipsy by five in the afternoon, laughing at something Bucky’s saying about a misunderstanding on a double date. The way Steve watches him as he talks is adorable, all soft eyes and quiet appreciation. Steve isn’t quite like that with anyone else, Angie thinks; he’s always more authoritative when it comes to his other friends, leading the conversation along. Not so with Bucky. With Bucky, he seems younger somehow (and his Brooklyn accent becomes more prominent, shaping his words). For the first time since finding out, Angie feels genuinely happy for them. At first, she’d simply felt angry about Steve moving on from Peggy, finding someone else after such a short time. But now it’s easy to see that he and Bucky are meant for each other in the way that childhood sweethearts rarely are.

Peggy’s over with Pepper and Natasha and Angie half-considers joining her, but the three girls seem to be deep into a conversation that Angie doesn’t want to interrupt. Instead, she asks Bucky about his college plans and Steve about his summer job, and she’s perfectly content until Steve finally, haltingly, brings up Peggy.

“So, you and Peg…” he starts, and Angie laughs slightly manically.

“I don’t know what Tony – or Jan – has been saying, but we’re friends. Honestly. Nothing else,” she says.

“Buck and I were friends for a long time. Now we’re together romantically and it’s just…it’s _right_ , Ang. I’m not saying it wasn’t with Peggy, but you know how we could never manage to go steady for too long. I’m just saying that Bucky and me – we took a risk, and it paid off. You can’t honestly say you’ve never considered being with Peg in that way?”

“This is _so_ not a conversation I want to be having with you,” Angie sighs. “Was I crushing on your ex-girlfriend while you two were still together? A little bit. Would she ever want to be with me? Probably not.”

“What makes you so sure?” Bucky cuts in, looking genuinely curious. “You two’ve always been so close, you’re like a damn married couple half the time.”

“Yeah – I didn’t see it before, but…” Steve says. “You make her happy. That’s the most important thing.”

*

Dark crashes down on them like a wave and Natasha darts about lighting candles until the garden is a shimmering, flickering illumination. The fairy lights in the gazebo are turned on and soft music beckons a few brave couples to a makeshift dance-floor in the middle of the grass. Even Wanda joins the fray – with Clint, of all people – and impresses them all by moving with more grace than they ever would have presumed her capable. Pepper gets dragged over by Natasha, the two folding seamlessly into one another’s arms. After a few songs, Pepper asks Tony to dance with her, whispering something into his ear that actually makes his face light up in an emotion that might be – for once in his life – an understanding of something that’s not a machine. It’s only when seeing Tony smile with genuine brightness that Angie realises how rare it is to see that expression on his face, rather than a sarcastic grin or a weighted frown. It’s enough that she offers to dance with him next, allowing him to lead and smiling encouragingly at him.

“You look happy,” she says.

“I am.”

“Who knew all it would take was a little closure,” Angie continues, intuiting a little.

He glances down. “Everyone I’ve ever loved, I’ve managed to fuck it up. I think I just needed someone to tell me that it wasn’t my fault.”

Angie smiles. “You’re a good dancer, Tony.”

His smile turns a little softer around the edges, his eyes a little sad. “My mom taught me.”

A light voice from behind them says, “Can I cut in?” Angie doesn’t have to look around to know that it’s Peggy, and her heart flutters a little quicker in her chest.

“Sure,” Tony says, “I should go find Bruce anyway.”

He slips away and Angie is left to face Peggy, who’s holding out her hands in expectation. Angie only hesitates for a moment before falling into place, reaching upwards to loop her arms around Peggy’s neck. Peggy’s hands rest lightly on her waist and Angie pours all of her focus on not stepping on her new partner’s feet.

She’s not much of a dancer herself, and as such she has to rely on her partner to move her around – but Peggy’s a forgiving partner, leading them effortlessly in small circles. Angie knows it’s not the shape of their steps that’s making her feel dizzy.

Angie bites her lip, looking up into Peggy’s eyes before saying, “Well, if you wanted to give them all more to gossip about, you’ve sure succeeded.”

“As if I care about that,” Peggy says dismissively.

Angie’s brain is whirring. Surely this is just something that gal pals do, slow-dance together surrounded by candles and other couples. She shouldn’t be reading more into this than there is. But, god, she wants to. It’s easy to feel Peggy’s hands on her waist and imagine being pressed closer, being touched lower – almost too easy. She feels breathless.

At the end of the song Peggy leans in and presses her lips to Angie’s cheek, leaving a smudge of red lipstick in their wake. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone – off to chat to someone else as though nothing just happened. And, really, nothing did. Two friends danced together.

“Oh my god,” Janet says, coming up behind her. “I have never in my life seen sexual tension like that.”

“Not helping, Jan,” Angie says, somewhat wearily.

“I can’t believe neither of you can see it.”

“It’s not a case of seeing or not seeing,” Angie replies. “It’s a case of _being_. And we’re not. So, really, there’s nothing to see.”

“You realise you’re making even less sense than when Tony talks about robots,” Janet says.

Angie sighs in defeat. “I’m in love with her, aren’t I.”

“You’re just about the last person to realise it, but yes,” Janet says. “Doesn’t it feel better to say it out loud anyway?”

“Not if she doesn’t feel the same way,” Angie says.

*

They head for home soon after, a short taxi ride with the three of them squashed into the back seat. Sam’s in the middle, laughing while Angie tells him about Pepper’s grandmother’s well-meaning tales of childhood that had nearly put everyone in the vicinity to sleep. Peggy’s quiet, which isn’t quite unusual, and staring out of her window as the streets whip by.

“Peg, you okay?” Angie asks.

“Fine. Just a little tired, I think,” Peggy responds shortly.

When they pull into Angie’s driveway it’s approaching midnight, so they have to tiptoe round the back to unlock the door and creep inside without waking anyone. With Sarah off at college, the only people they have to worry about waking are her parents, but Angie knows all too well the wrath of her dad without enough sleep. It’s not pretty.

Luckily, Angie’s room is on the ground floor, so they don’t have to worry about creaking stairs, and they pile inside. There’s a camp-bed already laid out on the floor – courtesy of Mrs Martinelli – and a double bed neatly made.

“I’ll take the camp-bed,” Peggy volunteers, dropping down onto it, and Angie frowns.

It’s not that she has some ulterior motive for wanting to share a bed with Peggy – they’ve been doing it since they were kids, innocent. A departure from the routine seems strangely abrupt and Angie’s instinct is to wonder what she could’ve done to prompt this change of mind. Peggy still stays over so often that there’s a drawer in Angie’s chest devoted to bits and bobs: Peggy’s spare toothbrush, underwear and clothes for the morning as well as pyjamas and some of her makeup. Angie has a matching box over at Peggy’s house. Their lives are so converged by this point that Angie feels Peggy’s room is as much her own as anywhere else.

Sam looks doubtful, too. “Angie, would your parents be okay with you sharing the bed with me?”

He knows – as all of their group does – that Angie hasn’t yet told her parents about her sexuality. It’s never seemed important enough to come up at the dinner table, and Angie is still a little scared about her deeply religious parents’ attitudes, although they’ve been perfectly accepting of the other same-sex couples of the group. Yeah, her parents probably won’t be okay with finding her and a boy in bed together, now Angie thinks about it.

“Uh…” she says, not wanting to force Peggy to do something she doesn’t want to. “Well, no. Probably not.”

Angie doesn’t know what to make of Peggy’s expression; it’s as enigmatic as she always is when she wants to be. Peggy Carter is an enigma wrapped in a mystery, even when you’ve known her since you were four years old. But she doesn’t argue, simply goes over to her drawer and pulls out a set of pyjamas, strappy top emblazoned with “who needs beauty sleep when you look like this?” and blue shorts. Angie’s the one who picked them out, a few months ago when they were out shopping. Oddly, it’s reassuring to see them now.

Peggy goes to the bathroom to change, which is reasonable considering Sam’s in the room – although the latter has no qualms about misplaced decency and simply strips down to his boxers before dropping into the camp-bed. Angie, too, isn’t that bothered and changes mechanically into her nightie, laughing when Sam makes a joke about her irresistible physique. “Yeah, right,” she giggles. “You’re not so bad yourself.” She winks and Sam pretends to swoon dramatically. Angie thinks, not for the first time, that life would be so much simpler if she could just have a crush on someone who isn’t unobtainable. She’s been friends with Sam ever since he joined their school two years ago and their banter was once interpreted as flirtation by some of the group – it seems ridiculous now, really, but apparently when a single guy and girl are friends, it’s automatically romantic. Angie sometimes wishes that were the case, that her life could be like _When Harry Met Sally_. But being a lesbian can put a wrench into even the most well-laid of life plans.

She doesn’t even think of herself as gay very often, but any deeper thought into the intricacies of her sexuality give her a headache. Sometimes an ill-fitting label is easier than trying to categorise every aspect of who she’s attracted to.

Peggy comes back into the room, then, hair falling loose and a little bit messy around her shoulders and makeup wiped clean off her face. “Are you not going to wash your face?” she asks Angie, frowning when she sees the girl already in bed.

“I’ll regret it in the morning,” Angie shrugs, “but I’m tired and don’t give a fuck. Future me will just have to suck it.”

Peggy smiles at that. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She slides into her side of the bed, her warmth seemingly infusing the bed at once. Angie’s always preferred sleeping with someone beside her – she tends to snuggle into something during the night, whether it be a blanket or another human, and Peggy’s used to it by now, lying close enough that she’s aware Angie will cling onto her during the night. In the past, she’s said she likes it as well, doesn’t mind the night-time koala act. This information is filed away under Angie’s mental folder of ‘proof that we’re soulmates even if it’s just friend soulmates’.  

Angie tucks herself into the crook of Peggy’s arm like she’s done a million times before and Peggy’s arm tightens around her in a warm embrace. It’s a struggle not to imagine every night being like this, with the closeness and the love Angie can feel radiating from her own heart. While she’d thought, before, that the love – while strong – was simply that of loyalty and admiration, friendship, she can’t ignore the extent of what she feels any more. She would have expected the feeling to change, alter, but in the end romantic love doesn’t feel all that different from friendship. The feeling’s just as strong, just as consuming, but it brings with it the desire for touch and closeness in a way Angie hasn’t experienced before. She wants to hold Peggy’s hand when they walk down the street, wants Peggy’s hands in her hair, wants the sweet, chaste kisses that she’s seen couples exchange when they want to communicate their love in the smallest of ways. As her head fits in the cushion of Peggy’s neck, she thinks it could be the simplest thing in the world to tell her how she feels.

But that’s always how it feels, when it’s late at night and the taste of alcohol lingers. It feels like anything could happen, until morning comes.

*

Whenever she’s been drinking, Angie wakes up too early. It’s no different the night after Pepper’s; as soon as the sun rises she’s wide awake and restless. Her mouth tastes like the dry remnants of the wine and her right arm, trapped under Peggy, has gone numb. They’ve managed to get even closer during the night, so that Peggy is practically on top of her, limbs tangled. This, Angie discovers, is a Bad Thing. With this much of a pretty girl on top of her, she feels a traitorous stirring between her legs that only serves to make her feel guilty. To disentangle herself would be to wake Peggy up, though, and that would be worse. Peggy always looks so soft when she’s asleep, free of the red lipstick and fierce expression she wears most days (not that Angie doesn’t love those, too).

“Having fun over there?”

Angie looks over to where Sam’s sitting up in bed, phone in hand. Angie instinctively blushes, even though she’s done nothing wrong. Their position is more innocent than it looks.

“Morning, Sam,” she says, instead of responding to his barb.

“Man, you two’ve got yourselves twisted up,” he laughs softly. “Seriously, are you trying to merge into one being?”

“Not helping.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “But you’ve gotta admit, for two gal pals you sure are _close._ Like, ‘Carol’ kinda close.”

“Is that the only lesbian movie you’ve ever seen?”

“That and ‘Black Swan’.”

Angie rolls her eyes, biting back a grin. “You’re such a straight boy,” she says fondly.

“Starting to think I’m the only one,” Sam replies. “Since apparently all my friends are varying degrees of gay.”

“I think Hank’s straight,” she offers.

It’s Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “The only person who likes Hank Pym is his girlfriend, and even she hates him half the time. If that’s the only other person, I’d like to revoke my straight membership right away and join the gays.”

“Give it a go,” Angie suggests. “Experiment in college. You have my blessing.”

Sam’s answering laugh sets her off as well, and the shift in position must be what wakes Peggy up. She’s bleary-eyed and yawning and impossibly cute, tucking her face into the pillow to avoid the morning sun. “What time is it?” she croaks.

“Half six,” Sam says, glancing at his phone.

“Oh, bugger off,” comes Peggy’s reply, muffled by her attempts to curl deeper into the blankets, pillows and Angie. “Why can’t you two sleep like _normal people_?”

Angie giggles and gently starts to disentangle herself from Peggy, somewhat reluctantly. As nice as the position had been, her bladder disagrees and she quickly makes her way over the bathroom to deal with the aftermath of Pepper’s wine. Her makeup – as predicted – has smudged all around her eyes, making her look like some kind of raccoon. Methodically, she wipes off the product and brushes her teeth, gulping down some water straight from the sink.

When she feels more like a human again, she returns from the bathroom to see Sam and Peggy sat up in the bed, both laughing over a video on Sam’s phone.

“Who wants breakfast?” Angie announces. “Because let me tell you, I’m starving.”

Both of her friends perk up at the offer of food, following her into the kitchen. It’s only then that Angie remembers that Sam is still only in his boxers and grabs one of her dad’s t-shirts off the dryer to give him; her parents are probably unused to coming downstairs to see practically naked boys in their kitchen. “What do you guys want?” she asks, once they’re all decent and sat at the breakfast bar.

“Whatever’s on offer,” Sam shrugs. “I’m not fussy.”

“Okay, then. I feel like pancakes, so,” Angie says, getting up to grab the mix from the cupboard. She’s always enjoyed cooking and baking, especially on mornings like these. It helps to wake her up, giving her something to focus on, step by step, and with the sun shining through the windows and her best friends cracking jokes too loudly and swearing too much – she wishes every day could start like this.

It’s also nice to receive the compliments that Peggy always pays her, practically moaning around the pancakes and syrup and declaring Angie a kitchen genius. Angie won’t say no to a pretty girl telling her she’s good in the kitchen. She’d love to be Peggy’s housewife.

*

When they get back to school on Monday, it’s immediately clear that prom season is in full session. There are posters for prom king and queen plastering lockers and walls and the dreaded promposals keep interrupting lessons and lunchtimes and pretty much every other moment.

“Who do you reckon should be prom royalty, then?” Angie asks Peggy, side-stepping a boy who’s down on one knee in front of a girl who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“I like T’Challa and Ororo for it,” Peggy says. “But Reed and Susan are also having a go, and Charles and Erik. I like all of them. The only people I’m definitely not voting for are Peter and Felicia.”

“Why not?” Angie asks, knowing full well what the answer is.

“Well, he’s in the year below, for one thing. Plus, I still think she’s the one who stole my purse that one time. I can’t prove it, but it was her.” Peggy has been adorably angry about this incident for almost two years, but has never been able to substantiate her claims to the school’s administration that Felicia is in any way guilty.

“I think I’ll just decide on the night,” Angie says.

“Are you…Were you thinking of asking anyone?” Peggy asks suddenly, and Angie has to clamp down on her urge to pull out some ridiculous promposal right there and then.

Instead she says, passably nonchalantly, “You know me. I’m not the type to go to prom with a date.”

“Oh, well. Jess wanted to know if we’d fight the heteronormative establishment and go with her instead.”

“Which Jess?” Angie asks. “Wait, how is our prom heteronormative? We’ve got two guys going for prom king and queen.”

“Yeah, do you think they’ll change the title if they win? Because I’d find it hard to pin down who out of Charles and Erik is the queen. Anyway, it’s not heteronormative at all, but I think Jess is bitter that Carol’s going with Rhodey.”

“Oh, Jessica Drew,” Angie says. “The one from gymnastics?”

“Yeah, that one. I always forget that you don’t really know her. You should’ve done that martial arts course with me, she was on that.”

“I think I’ll leave the violence to you,” Angie says. “I don’t doubt that you’re all the protection I need in this big bad world.”

Peggy looks at her disapprovingly. “I won’t always be there, Ang. You should learn to defend yourself.”

“You mean you’re not my personal bodyguard?” Angie gasps. “I’m shocked, really. Look, if you wanna teach me, be my guest. But I took two years of karate when I was, like, six and it made me swear never to go back ever again.”

“Fair enough,” Peggy shrugs. “Maybe one day I will teach you.”

*

The news that Tony is taking Bruce to prom as a real date and not just a lad-bro-pal is more shocking than it possibly should have been, all things considered. What’s even more shocking is that Tony doesn’t make a big thing of it, doesn’t plan a huge performance – he just buys two tickets and gives one to Bruce with romantic intent, blushing a little bit according to eyewitnesses and not blushing even a little bit at all according to Tony himself.  

“So, thinking of asking Peggy to the big event?” Tony asks Angie during their third period English lesson, while they’re meant to be discussing the various messages of ‘The Great Gatsby’.

“We’re going together, but as friends,” Angie replies. “But let’s just…not.”

“So you’ve finally admitted you have non-platonic feelings for her?” Tony assumes, grinning. “That’s good. The first step is acknowledging you have a problem, and all that.”

“Can we talk about you and Bruce instead?”

“Not a chance. My personal life is old news and also boringly lovely.” Tony’s smile is, indeed, gross and sickening. Angie can’t believe she’s reached the point where she resents others’ happiness. “Yours, however, is interesting and full of angst. The people want angst, Angie. Talk about your feelings.”

Angie groans. “I’m just sort of, a little bit, in love with her, and there’s no way I’m telling her that because then she’ll have to find a nice way to reject me and I don’t want to put her through that.”

“How do you know she’ll reject you?”

“It’s okay for _you_ ; no one’s ever rejected you. I don’t know how you do it. It always seems like everyone vows never to date you until suddenly you’re dating them,” Angie says.

“It’s a talent,” Tony says. “Although Nat rejected me once. I was very drunk. She was wearing a leopard-print dress. It was scary. Plus, one time I asked Barnes if he wanted to get coffee – as friends – and _he_ rejected me. I got friend-rejected. Frejected.”

“That must have been harrowing.”

“It wasn’t that bad. My point is that rejection’s a natural part of life. If she’s a good friend, she’ll find a way to make it work even if she’s not interested in you romantically.”

“That’s…actually not bad advice. I’m not gonna follow it, but it was really rather good. Well done,” Angie says, shocked by Tony’s sudden ability to articulate emotions. It’s new.

“Yeah…it’s sort of just paraphrased from what Rhodey said to me after we stopped going out.”

“Of course it is.”

Tony shrugs unapologetically. “He’s better at this stuff than I am. Go to him for advice. Or, really, anyone who’s not me. If you need a robot built, though, I’m your guy.”

“I’m not _looking_ for advice,” Angie says, exasperated. “I just want to be left alone to pine in peace, but people keep telling me to _do_ something about my feelings. I just want to live life and occasionally smell my best friend’s hair. It’s not that weird.”

“It’s pretty weird. What does her hair even smell like?” Tony asks.

“Grapefruit, mostly. Sometimes apple.”

*

The night of prom rolls around, and Angie wakes up absolutely dreading it. She’s practically the only one of their friendship group without a date, for one thing. Sam and Jan are going as friends, but apart from that it’s all happy couples, rubbing their happiness in her face. No one to slow dance with (she assumes there’ll be slow dancing, although she’s eager to be proven wrong), no one to kiss in the photo booth (according to prom committee insiders, she’s been informed that there will be a photo booth) and no one to have sex with at the end of the night, which, as prom traditions go, isn’t the worst one Angie could have thought of.

Plus, Peggy and Jess have a girls’ night planned, with waxing and makeup and all those other girly things. It’s not that Angie doesn’t normally like those things (minus the waxing) but she’s really not in the mood. In reality, she’d much rather be sleeping.

But prom, she rationalises to herself, is one of those essential high school experiences that she’d regret not going to. She’s already spent too much money on her ticket, dress and high heels, and – more importantly – she’s promised Peggy that she’ll go with her. There’s no way she’s backing out of that promise, no matter how much she wants to.

So she turns up at Jess’s house at five in the afternoon with a chirpy smile on her face and a kit full of nail polish and proceeds to – actually have a lovely time. It might mostly be that Jess’s room is stocked with a mini-fridge containing bottles of wine that Angie immediately latches on to, or it might be the attention that Peggy lavishes on her, helping her to curl her hair and apply her makeup. (Just girly things, Angie thinks, trying not to pass out. There’s something helplessly arousing about another girl applying her lipstick for her. Or maybe she just needs to chill.)

“You never let me see your dress,” Peggy says, just when Angie’s pulling it out of her bag.

“Sort of like you’re getting married and Angie’s the bride,” Jess says, laughing. Angie tries not to take it to heart, even though she sort of does. She allows herself a full ten seconds of thinking about Peggy in a wedding dress before she speaks again.

“Yeah, I wanted to make it like a big reveal,” she smiles. “It’s not really that exciting.”

The dress is mint green with pink stitching, full-length skirt flaring our ever-so-slightly at the waist. It’s cute, Angie thinks, especially when paired with the pink accessories she’s got picked out. Jess and Peggy, meanwhile, are both wearing red. For Jess, it’s a knee-length, sparkling dress with gold studs on the collar. Peggy’s, however, is something else – or maybe Angie’s just biased. She’d seen the dress itself months ago, but hadn’t prepared herself for how it would look when Peggy put it on. It’s strapless and elegant, the sort of dress that feels like it’s come straight out of the golden age of cinema. Angie’s halfway to suggesting coupling it with white gloves when Peggy actually starts putting a pair on.

“Holy shit,” Jess says.

Angie has to agree, nodding mutely.

Peggy actually looks bashful, which is adorable. She bites her lip and says, “You think?” with all the nervousness of any teenage girl who wants to look nice at her prom. Sometimes it’s good to have a reminder that Peggy isn’t secretly a superhuman.

*

For an event that specifically put a ban on alcohol, the school’s gymnasium sure smells a lot like alcohol. Peggy’s got a flask tucked in a thigh holster that Angie doesn’t want to know the origin story of (like, seriously. It’s a holster. On her _thigh_. Angie may have some fucked up kinks) full of some disgusting mixture of vodka and orange juice that Jess had recommended. Unsurprisingly, it tastes a whole lot more of vodka than it does of orange juice.

They don’t arrive to the gasps and slow motion that movies always advertise, but their friends spot them quickly enough and rush over, gushing over how pretty everyone looks. Janet designed her own dress, of course, and it’s enough to make anyone envious; Nat and Pepper have color-coordinated in the most ridiculously cute couple-y way Angie’s ever seen, and Wanda looks like some kind of gothic witchy princess (it’s a good look on her). She’s brought her brother, Pietro, along even though he attends a different school, and the female attention he’s attracting is amusing to no end. Even funnier is Clint’s reaction – he looks a little dazed and keeps blushing every time the male Maximoff twin looks at him. Angie has to bite back on a laugh.

The boys don’t look half bad, either; although suits are never half as interesting as the dresses, they’ve managed to make it work. Tony’s gone for a classic tuxedo with a red bow-tie, and Bruce’s suit is grey with a green tie. They also seem to be incapable of not holding each other’s hands for more than three minutes at a time, which would be cute if Angie wasn’t bitter. Actually, it’s still sort of cute. Bucky is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, because he’s apparently allergic to dressing formally, and next to Steve – dressed in a tuxedo – he looks a little bit ridiculous and very much like he would rather be anywhere but here. Every time he hears the word ‘punch’ he wrinkles his nose and mutters something mutinous about punching whoever invented high school proms. Angie gets the sense that he may only be here to be a good boyfriend. Which, fair enough.

“Don’t forget to cast your votes for prom king and queen!” Rhodey, student president, is instructing from up on stage. His enthusiasm seems mostly forced, but at least he’s trying. His date, Carol Danvers, is stood to the right of the stage wearing a pant-suit and red lipstick and killing it, basically. Her short blonde hair is messily arranged around her sharp-angled face – Angie can totally see why Jess has been pining over her for about three years, basically. She sort of looks like she’s come from a different planet of insanely attractive people. Angie may have had too much to drink already.

“Have you decided who to vote for, then?” Peggy asks, voice so close to her ear that Angie jumps.

“I think Team Storm Panther have cinched it for me,” Angie says.

“Why are they calling themselves that, again?”

“She’s in the meteorology society and he’s…I don’t know, I guess he just really likes cats,” Angie says.

“I guess it makes for a better slogan than ‘Vote Cherik’,” Peggy says. “And why did Peter and Felicia go for ‘Spider-Cat’? A mixture of a spider and a cat would be horrifying. Kind of like them. So it’s appropriate, at least.”

Peggy gets even more bitter when tipsy.

“Tony says we can’t vote for Reed and Susan because they’re calling themselves ‘Science Partners’ after he and Bruce enforced a school-wide trademark on ‘Science Boyfriends’. The school-board’s allowing Reed to use it on a technicality,” Angie tells her.

“But…Tony and Bruce aren’t even going for king and queen,” Peggy points out, ostensibly reasonably. She, unfortunately, forgets that they are talking about Tony Stark.

“He says it’s his and Bruce’s ‘ship name’ and stealing it in any variation is a ‘breach of ethics’,” Angie responds. “I think he’s been spending too much time with Kamala, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” comes a wry voice from behind them. It’s Bruce, of course, alone for the first time since the beginning of the night. “He’s just trying his best. He still asks me if I’m going to dump him about twice a day.”

“It’s weird how the most arrogant person we know is also the most insecure,” Angie says, knowing that both adjectives are an understatement when it comes to Tony.

Bruce inclines his head. “It’s hard to believe that anyone is ever going to accept you, wholly, the way you are. I mean, look at me. I’m a bipolar asexual gay guy in high school: I thought I was definitely going to get bullied, but I never imagined that someone would fall in love with me. And now here I am. I’m at prom with my boyfriend and some of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

The silence that follows is mostly stunned, and even more so when Peggy turns around and says. “Angie Martinelli, I am completely and irrevocably in love with you. I’m aware that I just stole that line from _How I Met Your Mother_ , which is incidentally a show that we marathoned together one long weekend because, as our friends have repeatedly pointed out, we do everything together and are practically married. You complained for months about the finale and I'd never seen anything more adorable in my entire bloody life. So I wanted to ask you to prom as my date but I was scared that you’d say no. And I’m babbling. Can you please say something?”

Angie feels like she’s lost the ability to breathe, much less speak.

“I feel like I should go,” Bruce says. “That was a great speech though, Peg. Well done.”

“Thanks,” Peggy replies.

Once Bruce is gone, Angie manages to start operating basic functions again. “You…holy shit, English.”

“Sorry, I know it was inappropriate. We’re friends, and I should have respected that you don’t have those sorts of feelings for me…”

Before she can finish, Angie’s kissing her. It’s not a first kiss sort of kiss, but fuck that. Angie has spent long enough pining over this girl that she deserves a little tongue. Or a lot. Whatever. It also quickly becomes slightly too heated for the middle of a school gymnasium with practically everyone they know standing less than twenty meters away. Angie’s hands tangle in Peggy’s hair and there are hands pressing into her hips, pulling her closer until they’re pressed together without even the hint of a space between them. Someone wolf-whistles and Angie takes her hand away from Peggy’s face long enough to flip them the bird before returning to ignoring the world around her.

“Angie,” Peggy murmurs, breathless, against her lips, “what the hell are we doing?”

They both dissolve into giggles, the kind that send teeth clattering together where they’re still so close. “Well. We’re kissing,” Angie says. “Which, incidentally, is something we should have been doing for ages by now, because _fucking hell_.”

Peggy laughs into Angie’s shoulder, the sound bright and pretty in a way that makes butterflies erupt in Angie’s stomach. This is _actually happening_. “I love you,” Peggy says softly.

“Ditto.”

“How romantic,” is Peggy’s dry response.

“Hey, we’re teenagers. We don’t have to be romantic yet,” Angie points out. “Anyway, we have _so much_ time to buy each other flowers and chocolates and go on dates and gross all of our friends out. Right now I just want to get drunk and fuck around at my high school prom.”

“That is a plan I can get behind,” Peggy says, pecking her once more on the lips. “Bathroom?”

Angie nods and takes Peggy’s hand in her own, fingers meshing together perfectly. Once inside the ladies’, Peggy pulls the flask out of its holder and offers it to Angie. “Let’s finish this thing,” she grins, taking a long swig.

*

They get back into the main hall, giggling and falling over each other, just in time for the prom king and queen announcements. They re-join Jess, who takes one look at them and says, “You drank all of it, didn’t you? Dammit.”

“Sorry, Jess,” Angie apologises.

“It’s fine. I’m glad you two got your shit worked out. Now I won’t have to listen to Peggy’s _incessant pining_ , like Jesus Christ it was – ”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Peggy interrupts, blush bright on her cheeks. “Let’s find out who won this useless bloody popularity contest!”

Someone nearby cheers at the proclamation and one of the nearby contestants – Reed – turns to glare at them. As Rhodey takes the stage, armed with the two crowns and the winners’ gift vouchers, Peggy slips her arm around Angie’s waist. It takes a few useless platitudes and congratulations, but eventually T’Challa and Ororo are declared the winners. They do make a striking, beautiful couple, both dressed in white – they make speeches that Angie won’t be able to remember tomorrow but contain the kind of sentiments that high schoolers together for the last time need to hear. The prospect of leaving this place – this town – and being somewhere away from her friends, it’s not something Angie’s given much thought to.

She looks across the room, at all of the people who’ve made her school experience bearable, and she feels tears gathering in her eyes like the worst kind of cliché. She can’t help it; she loves all of them so much and she’ll miss them when she’s gone.

Peggy seems to understand, and the arm she has around her tightens.

People start to drift off after that, but Pepper’s desperate for their group to stay long enough that she can get a picture of them together. They arrange themselves in the midst of the decorations, some of which are falling down already, and make one of the teachers take the picture. Mr Blake takes a few pictures, but Angie’s favourite is the one where they’re all laughing at something Clint said, not even looking at the camera.

After that, Wanda and Pietro go home and the rest of them decide to stay out in town. They go to the park and sit on the benches in front of the lake, someone producing a bottle of vodka that gets passed around, open carrying laws be damned.

“I’m gonna miss this lake,” Angie says, and they all know what she means. She presses her hand into Peggy’s and stares up at the sky, head fuzzy from the alcohol and the sheer _love_ she feels for all of these people. “I love you,” she murmurs, to Peggy and to everyone who cares to hear it. It’s been a long fourteen years, but she’s finally got the girl of her dreams and the best friends she could ever ask for – and who gives a shit if you don’t know what you’re going to do with your life when you’ve got all that.

**Author's Note:**

> so agent carter got cancelled while i was writing this and that sucks.  
> you can follow me on tumblr @elliehopes or twitter @Ellie_Hopes or both if you really want to make me happy.  
> please leave whatever feedback you see fit!! feed my ego!! thanks for reading!! xxx


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